THE 
LAND 
WHO?E 
THE 
COW 
BOY 
GROWS 




By 

A.V. HUDSON 



THE LAND 

WHERE the COWBOY 

GROWS 



By 

A. V. HUDSON 



DENVEK 
THE CARSON-HARPER CO. 

19 1 5 






Copyright. 1915, by A. V. Hudson 



OC!,A409518 



SEP -71915 



1^ 




FOREWORD 

1 LL Y' ' has long been a visitor of mine 
who did considerable ''pestering 
'round" in the spring of the year. 
There would be stretches of time when the 
"Circle A. H." Ranch wasn't bothered with 
him, then some morning he would arrive — 
horse, dog and entire paraphernalia. 

When he was gone, I would pick up the 
bits of verse he had left lying about. At last 
these became so numerous it was decided to 
put a few of them into book form, and for that 
reason the following "round-up" was made. 
I trust that between the lines of these verses 
you may read the life of one who is not I, but 
"Billy," a dream-boy of the hills. 

A. V. HUDSON 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Foreword 

Introduction 

The Land Where the Cowboy Grows 7 

The Storm ^ 

Go Away Back, Mr. Satan ^ 

The Cowboy's Valentine ' ^ 

When Love Went Riding ^ ' 

The Homemade Cigarette ' - 

The Free and Easy Way ^"^ 

15 

17 



Other Men's Dogs 



Campfire Song 

At the Stock Show *^ 

Horse Sense " 

™ ,. , 21 

Travenn 

The Indian Pink -^ 

The Legend of the Columbine 23 

Timberline ^^ 

A Sonnet ^^ 

When the Lasso Scored 2'' 

,, 30 

Vamose 

31 
Anemone 

3' 
Homeward 

T i: ., 33 



The Price ^"^ 

The Cypress Song ^^ 



The Cash In. 



38 



The Land <where the 
Cowboy Groivs 



Introduction 

Gathered together, rounded up, 
Natives and "dogies"* in one, 

Thoughts that my pencil has trailed along 
And lassoed, just for fun. 

Others have written for thoroughbreds 
And thinkers' minds have stirred. 

But the thoughts recorded in my brand 
Are just for the common herd. 




*An inferior kind of cattle on the Western ranges. 



The Land v}here the 
Coivboy Grows 



The Land Where the Cowboy Grows 

The sun-kissed West 

In romance dressed, 
The home of the summer snows, 

Where the wily camp-bird builds its nest, 
Is the land where the cowboy grows. 

The rope keeps time 

To the hoof-beats' rhyme. 
And the tanning breeze that blows. 

From youth to age man's at his prime 
In the land where the cowboy grows. 

There circles race 

And fall to place. 
As the lariat he throws. 

Across the blue flit clouds of lace 
In the land where the cowboy grows. 

He's blythe and brown. 

He fears no town. 
And laughs where'er he goes. 

It's there they help the man that's down — 
In the land where the cowboy grows. 

They sing by rote 

And swear by note. 
In the home of the sun's repose ; 

But, it's ladies first, when they go to vote 
In the land where the cowboy grows. 




riie Laitd Inhere the 
Coivhoy Groiis 



The Storm 

The clouds, like unwashed wool, go hurrying by 

Pursued by the Wind Witches of the sky, 

A crack in this dense storm drift gleams with light 

And black clouds battle to outrival night ; 

The trees hold forth their leaves in breathless pause 

Then sway subjective to the Storm King's laws. 

Quick, drop by drop, how can such clear drops fall 

From out yon dark and threatening crepe-trimmed pall "? 

Down, down, in swifter, splashing flight, they race — 

A stream, a torrent, now no drop you trace — 

Just one continual, downward, rushing pour, 

A constant quiver from the thunder's roar. 

But, see ! white clinging clouds, like cluny lace, 

Go drifting daintily from place to place ; 

And diamond raindrop, mined from coal-cloud skies, 

Gems window ledge and moss, where'er it lies. 

Oh, look — a sunbeam smiles across a leaf. 

And, though this one wee sunbeam's life were brief 

Another follows ; then, Behold ! the Sun 

Smiles on the Earth to say — the storm is done. 



® 



The Land i^'liere the 
Coiuboy Grows 



Go Away Back, Mr. Satan 

Go away back, Mr. Satan, for I'm sure a ridin' free, 
And there ain't no use your waitin' or a followin' after me ; 
In the city you're a steerer, which ain't nothin' very strange. 
But you can't come any nearer when I'm ridin' on the range 

Where the birds are singin' sudden, throwin' joy notes to the breeze. 
And the wind his organ's thuddin' to the hummin' of the trees ; 
Where the glowin' sky's a glowin' and the mountains grand I see. 
You might just as well be goin', 'tain't no use to follow me. 

(rod Almighty sends His glory shine, a siftin' through the clouds. 
From plumb above the timberline to the restless, shiftin' crowds; 
And I guess He sends His blessed word to guide me in the town, 
But it ain't so easy to be heard as when I'm nosin' round 

Where the peaks in purple splendor, pointin' Paradise, I see, 

'Taint no use, you old pretender, there to follow after me. 

So, Mr. Satan, hit the hike, for your lasso's hangin' slack 

And the mountains are a smilin' like they're glad that I've come back. 




The Land lahere the 
Coivboy Groivs 



The Cowboy's Valentine 

Can cowboy's love compete with those 

Who write so grandly "? Ah, who knows ! 

Is love to great men more divine 

Than love that stirs this heart of mine '? 

The circles of the lariat 

Frame pictures of a face, and yet 

A rope of pearls were far more fit 

To frame the face I see in it. 

A name goes rippling through my mind 

With love, I love, entwined, combined ; 

Ah, would that I owned many herds 

Of golden-edged and learned words. 

And then, one thousandth part I'd tell 

Of love that in my heart doth dwell. 




10 



The Land where the 
Coivboy Groivs 



When Love Went Riding 

We sang and laughed while the ponies pranced, 
The winds blew mild, the sunbeams danced ; 
And I held your hand as we galloped away 
Over the hills in the newborn day — 

Where the prairie was broad 

And life was free, 

Where love went riding 

With you and me. 

Remember, dear, how your pony shied 
As I stole a kiss on that morning ride *? 
My own little girl you were that day. 
You rode the sorrel and I the bay — 

Where the prairie was broad 

And life was free, 

Where love went riding 

With you and me. 

You went from my life and shadows lay 
Over the hills for many a day. 
But that memory, dear, you cannot take, 
You were mine that once for love's sweet sake — 
Where the prairie was broad 

And life was free, 
When love went riding 
With you and me. 

If my heart broke, you never knew, 
If your heart broke, you hid that, too ; 
But life and love, and heaven and hell. 
Our eyes once dared to each other tell — 
Where the prairie was broad 

And life was free, 
When love went riding 
With you and me. 



11 




The Land ivhere the 
(Jo<w/'oy Groivs 



The Homemade Cigarette 

There are dreams that come a plenty 

When the campfire gleams at night, 
There are faces in each planet 

When the evening stars are bright ; 
I am glad to pass the yarn along 

Of most I see, and yet, 
'Tho I could, I would not tell you 

All I tell my cigarette. 

Never painter sketched on canvas 

All the beauty Nature dealt; 
Never music has been written 

Telling all the writer felt ; 
Never poet put on paper 

All his genius could beget, 
For he would not tell all secrets 

He has told his cigarette. 

If your spirit's on the rampage 

And you heave and twist inside, 
Then you saddle up at midnight 

For a long and furious ride ; 
You dismount upon the hilltop 

And the whole darned world forget 
While you roll and smoke in silence 

Just an "ornery" cigarette. 

Then the world is still about you 

Down the glade and up the hill, 
And there comes to mind a female 

Who once piously said, "Bill, 
Quit your smoke and vote for women." 

Sufferin' cats ! a suffragette 
Talking of emancipation. 

Slandering you, my cigarette. 



12 



The Land where the 
Cowboy Grows 



Then you're silent, telling secrets 

To that brown and slender roll, 
Getting next to God and Nature; 

Holding converse with your soul. 
There's the man who chews the stogie, 

And the lad whose pipe's a pet. 
But the cowman out in cowland 

Smokes the homemade cigarette. 




13 



The Land luhere the 
Co<wboy Groivs 



The Free and Easy Way 

I'm back among the hills again, to the free and easy way, 

To brand the calves and "bust the bronc," and draw a regular pay ; 

It used to seem a hard old job, just riding day by day. 

Then came the news that Uncle Rube had cashed his chips and left ; 
They buried him, I cashed the draft — it came to quite a heft. 
Some friends were gay while some were sad that I was thus bereft. 

I settled up some bills I owed and gave the boys a feast. 

Then packed my war bag, doffed my spurs and started for the East ; 

You'd thought, to see me heading out, the President's job I'd leased. 

I spieled at balls with crooked sticks and rode in a "machine," 
I drank some funny tasting drink out of a high tureen, 
I tried to talk and never swear behind a painted screen. 

A longing for the cattle range kept coming to my mind, 
Something was missing in that show, something I couldn't find — 
A smell of leather, jingling spur, a lariat to wind. 

One night it all grew tiresome at a chafing party stew, 
I was the outlaw broncho that didn't know what to do. 
Each member told a story, its limit — to be new. 

And when it came my turn to lead no card was up my sleeve, 

I had to pass the ante on and just stampede and leave. 

While of that bunch of high-grade stuff — not one was left to grieve. 

I'm back among the hills again, have donned the spur and leather 
To ride and work and night-herd in any kind of weather ; 
When evening comes, my dog and I will just bunk up together. 




14 



The Land =ujhere the 



Other Men's Dogs 

Other men's dogs have died, I guess, 

I never gave it a thought 
Except a smile about the fuss 
Over a dog — a canine cuss ; 

Why should I worry that blood was shed *? 

But it's different now, for my dog's dead. 

To think some "ornery greaser" 

Would murder a dog like Ted; 
Murder it is, and first degree 
To shoot an old pal such as he ; 

Don't ask me about the things I said ; 

It's different when your own dog's dead. 

I sure profaned that peon some, 

When he met my boot he fled ; 
To kill a white man's only friend. 
It should have been that "Greaser's" end. 

What could I do ? He had killed my Ted ; 

The poor little son-of-a-gun was dead. 

I buried him by the roadside 

A mountain cliff at his head ; 
Kinnikinick and columbine 
Went in that hole with spruce and pine, 

And, well — I'll admit some tears I shed ; 

It's right at home when your own dog's dead. 

The doghouse by the cabin door, 

That the quaking-asp o'erspread. 

Is nothing but an empty shack 

Its owner gone — he can't come back; 

For to pound a darned old Greaser's head 
Won't bring him back, if your dog is dead. 

15 



The Land luhere the 
Cowboy Groivs 



Tonight the prairie wolves howl 'round- 
That pack on dead meat fed — 

Chanting about a peon's sin ; 

But Ted is gone, he can't chime in. 

The poor little lovin' cuss is dead; 
Sinfully swearin' I go to bed. 




16 



The Land nuhere the 
C(y=iA)boy Gro<ws 



Campfire Song 

In the evening when the campfire 

Throws its gleams across the night, 
In the evening when the campfire 

Writes your name in shades of light, 
Every wandering zephyr whispering 

Through the pine trees tells of you 
And the dreams we dreamed, while dreaming 

By the campfire, just we two. 

Still the blue-bell nods its head 

Above the waters of the spring. 
And the columbine is dreaming 

Of the songs the robins sing, 
While the whispering wind is lingering 

Just beyond the golden light, 
Where the campfire paints your picture 

On the background of the night. 

Come Love, where the campfire 

Throws its gleam on the Western sky; 
There by its light, Dear, 

We'll whisper, you and I. 
We'll tell love's sweet story. 

The story the whole world knows, 
Little Girl, we will dream 
In the golden gleam. 
Where the evening campfire glows. 




17 



The Lund ivhere the 
C.oivhoy Groii:s 



At the Stock Show 

Said a thoroughbred to a cowboy's nag, 

"Why are you here in the city? 
Compared to an animal such as I, 

\ ou're truly an object of pity; 
With your jogging pace and your downcast face 

To me you are quite a stranger ; 
And do men of mind accept your kind 

Out there on the open range, Sir'?" 

"Hold on, my friend," said the rancher's horse, 

"The limits of town are your college ; 
There are men I know who would laugh and jeer 

At you and your boast of knowledge. 
It's true I shy at an automobile, 

And a gobuzzer surely gets me ; 
The glare and gleam of city streets 

Is the thing that always frets me. 

"But could you veer from the horn of the steer, 

Or hold him while he's branded"? 
Do you know the fret of the lariat? 

Own up, my friend, be candid. 
And why do I hold my head down thus. 

Allowing my reins to dangle*? 
The prairie dog hole would get me sure 

If I held my head at your angle. 

"What rider has time when throwing the rope. 

Or when the herd is stampeding — 
It's the law, of course, of the cowboy's horse 

To give him the aid he's needing. 
This jogging gait you're jeering of 

Makes many miles in a day. 
Your gallop and trot would soon tire out 

When the herd leads off and away. 



18 



The Land where the 
Coivboy Grows 



"You're guided and turned by a side-wise pull, 

A martingale holding you down ; 
And this is the proper way to do 

By a horse that is ridden in town. 
I turn at the touch of the rein on my neck, 

The sway of my rider's shoulders ; 
And watch the place where I set my foot 

When we race o'er the rocks and boulders. 

"Yet, each has his own proper place to fill, 

Use good horse sense in filling ; 
You on my range, or I in your stall. 

We wouldn't be worth a shilling. 
But when you hear, the horse must go — 

His place to be filled with motors. 
Though they disfranchise the city horse 

Cow ponies will still be voters." 




19 



The Land luhere the 
Co<wboy Grows 



Horse Sense 

Horse sense, God I but what it's worth 
To us fellers here on earth 

That never had no chance to get 
Much further than the alphabet ; 
Just got horse sense, 

Nothin' great 
To be braggin' 
Of to Fate. 
And yet. 
We can manage to pull through ; 
Don't know nothin' much that's new, 
But when you get us in a pinch 
You'll find us winnin', that's a cinch. 
Just got horse sense, 
Wouldn't trade 
For no sense plumb 
College made 
You bet. 




20 



The Land vihere the 
Coiuboy Grotvs 



Travelin' 

I'm a-travelin' for my health now, 
And, say I I'm goin' some; 

For the sheriff of the county 
Is foUowin' with a gun. 

And if I'm caught on this bay horse. 
They'll hang me till I'm dead. 

On circumstantial evidence 

And things I've left unsaid. 

I didn't mention to the man 

Who owns this horse I ride 

That I should like to borrow him 
To cross the Blue divide ; 

This saddle seemed to fit so well 

The back of this bay horse 

To leave it hanging in a barn 

Quite filled me with remorse. 

I started out long after dark 

I am so retiring. 
And then the moonlight on the range 

Always is inspiring. 

But, if I'm caught, the range I'll cross 
Greater is than this one ; 

I'll cross it on a swinging bridge 
And back I'll never come. 

One other way might open up — 

'Twould suit me not so well — 

To consort with criminal lawyers here. 
Or straight with Satan dwell. 



® 



21 



The Land ivhere the 
Coivboy Groivs 



The Indian Pink 

A strange little flower 

With a sun-kissed nose, 
Without any perfume, 

Yet red as a rose. 
Did some Indian maiden 

Plant you here 
In the footprint left 

By the hoof of a deer, 
Or are you the symbol 

Of blood that was shed 
In the feud of the white man 

And the red? 




22 



The Land ivhere the 
Qoivhoy Groius 



The Legend of the Columbine 

When God brought forth this world for us 
He planned innumerable pleasures, 

In granting which, He counted flowers 
As one of the greatest treasures. 

Flowers — like the rainbow tinted, 
But never a flower of white. 

Was here when our Lord inspected 

To see that our home was made right. 

Then came an envoy from heaven 

With a gift from the shining throne, 

Of flowers with golden centers 

And a beautiful white in tone. 

Her arms heaped high with these treasures. 
An angel came down from above 

And scattered abroad the white flowers 
As a symbol of God's great love. 

At last, but one fair white blossom 

Remained in the bright angel's hand ; 

She had scattered well her burden. 

O'er the silent and sleeping land. 

For the mountain tops she started ; 

And, thinking of Heaven and home. 
Still carrying this tall white flower. 

She arose toward the arching dome. 

Far up, above the highest peaks, 

In the blue of the Western skies. 

She thought of the gift forgotten 

And lowered her beautiful eyes. 



23 



The Land luhere the 
Coiuboy Groixjs 



Then, seeking a place to plant it, 

She paused on the great mountainside ; 

But the flower — dipped in skyland — 
A wonderful blue had been dyed. 

She tried with her tears to cleanse it. 
And thus wash the blue tint away ; 

But, tho the center was golden, 

The blue was a blue that would stay ; 

Quickly, she plucked from her pinion 
Five feathers of silvery white. 

Forming a circle so deftly 

And binding the edges so tight. 

She placed this feathery circle 

Within the bright circle of blue, 

The white of her wing for petals 
With the petals of azure hue. 

It was blue and white and golden. 

The sky-land, the snow-land, the gem; 
Its perfume the breath of angels, 

It dropped from a tall, slender stem. 

Planting this flower on the hillside 
She watered it softly with dew. 

And, Lo I Behold ! the Columbine 

On the Rocky Mountains grew. 




24 



The Land where the 
Cozvboy Groius 



Timberline 



Up at timberline, how strange 

To see beyond this dead line 
No trees grow on the range ; 

There they stop, nor advance one step 
Into this upland region so high ; 

Only bunch grass and boldest flowers 
Can venture so near the sky. 

Oh, ye mighty pines of valley and hill ! 
How puny you look at this height, 
Tho you sway and toss and beat your arms 

To show your greatest might 
And all your beauty. 
Think, not even the whispering trees 
Nor the noisy chattering stream. 
Only bunch grass, stirred by the breeze 

And tiny flowers from moss beds spring. 
While Nature, painting her seasons 
In colors of greatest splendor. 
Across this line — by the Master drawn — 
With trembling fingers can send her 
Somberest colors only 
Into this region lonely. 
A prayer from your heart 

Trembles up to your lips 
As you look far off 

Where the blue sky dips 
And forms a tent 
From this summit bent. 
As you feel the presence of Almighty God 

When you hear the ocean's roar, 
And see the waves, how they dare to go 

Just so far up on the shore, 
Or beat at the foot of some rugged cliff 
As they must forever more. 

So you feel the power of a Glory Divine 

When vou stand on the summit, 'bove timberline. 




25 



The Land luherc tin 
Coiuboy Groius 



A Sonnet 

When summer's rose-tipped cloud shall cease to glow 
And purple mountain take a sadder hue, 
When soaring eagle spurns the heaven's blue 

And slowly skims the earth beside the crow ; 

Oh, then, dear maiden, will you come to know 

That I have ceased my worship love of you 
And in my heart the spirit sweet and true 

Which was of you the thought, has slipped below 

Some wicked image, which, but newly made 

To fill my heart, has blotted out the light ; 

And that some horrid witchery was played 

To take from me my mind in one dark night ; 

Then know, that with my living wit you stayed 

And vanished only in this maddening blight. 




26 



The Land vjliere the 
Coijvhoy Gronvs 



When the Lasso Scored 

Say, Bill ! you mind that cowbow dude 

Rides with the 4T boys. 
Wears the chaps with the frescoed belt 

And the hat with silver toys? 
You know! he rides a brown cayuse, 

Brand — double circle A. 
Say, Bill ! he throws the slickest rope 

I've seen in many a day. 

Last Sunday, I rode up to Pete's, 

To help him brand some mules, 
And after I'd gone all the way 

He didn't have the tools ; 
So while he built a brandin' fire 

And patched a broken gate 
I rode to Dan's to get the irons 

Which helped to pass the wait. 

Just as I crossed the Wilson bridge, 

Me joggin' along right slow, 
I saw, a comin' down the ridge, 

This dude, cowpuncher beau. 
And down the road, close by the creek, 

Was Wilson's youngest gal — 
The one that has the bay-gold hair — 

or Wilson calls her Al. 

She was a ridin' mighty slow 

On Wilson's pinto mare. 
The reins was just a hangin' down 

And swingin' in the air. 
or Wilson's "Paint" was joggin' 'long, 

Just dozin' in the sun; 
You'd never think to see her now 

How that ol' mare has run. 



27 



The Land ixhere the 
Coiuhoy Groivs 



And then I saw what made my hair 

Stand right straight up on end, 
There, on the cliff that overhangs 

The road around the bend, 
A yellow spot, it seemed at first, 

Took shape as it came near; 
'Twas creepin', creepin' right along 

To where the cliff falls sheer. 

This long, lank, yellow body 

Made me shiver in the sun; 
I cussed the luck that sent me there 

Yet made me leave my gun. 
That yellow cat was creepin' on. 

And watchin' up the trail 
And creepin', creepin' nearer, 

I could see it switch its tail. 

While Alice was ridin' 'long. 

Straight to her very death, 
'Twas then I saw another sight 

That made me hold my breath : 
The 4T boy, his horse a-run. 

Was comin' down the ridge ; 
He'd seen the danger from above 

While I was on the bridge ; 

His hat was off, his rope was up, 

Spurrin' like the devil ; 
You know the slope is gradual there 

Above the cliff, most level ; 
But now the cat was doubled up 

And ready for its spring — 
That pinto mare was joggin' 'long 

As cool as anything. 



28 



The Land luhere the 
Coivhoy Grows 



Straight into the air sprang the mountain cat- 
But the rope shot out ahead, 

Then dropped right back around his neck ; 
I saw him hangin' dead. 

The horse was standin' forefeet braced, 
The cowboy's face was pale, 

While down below, all safe and sound, 
Was Alice in the trail. 



® 



2d 



The Land ivhere the 
Cowboy Gro<ws 



Vamose 

When you see the silver circle 
Of the moon a swingin' low, 

When you hear the frogs a croakin' 
Where the water mosses grow ; 

With a banjo, and a hammock, 
And a girl, my goodness me, 

What more can mortal man expect 
Is more than I can see. 

But when the silver moon sinks down 

Behind the jagged hills. 
And when the hammock sways away. 

While darkness 'round you spills. 

When the banjo quits its talking 

And the Night-Wind whispers low, 

You're mighty apt to get engaged 
If you don't get up and go. 




30 



The Land where the 
Coivboy Gronvs 



Anemone 

Anemone — thou dainty flower 

That greets us e'er the snow departs, 
Thy soft blue petals find the way 

That leads directly to our hearts. 

Art thou the first of many gems 

That form the flower crown of Spring, 

Or dost thou 'broider with thy blue 

The royal robe of Winter's King"? 




31 



The Land lultere the 
CoiJiihoy Groisjs 



Homeward 

The car wheels whisper, 

"Free, you're free ;" 
The old hills call 

And beckon me ; 
The old love waits, 

The old friends smile, 
And the wheels click off 

Another mile. 

I laugh, tho' I cry as I say good-by, 

But away where the willow bends 
To kiss and touch with a whispering sigh 
The lilting waters hurrying by 

Is the world of the tiny friends; 

The green beneath, the blue above. 
The world of beauty and life and love. 

Oh, the world is gay where the children play 

'Neath the trees through the singing hours, 
The world of birds that dip and sway 
Through the living light of the laughing day, 
The world of bees and flowers. 

The green beneath, the blue above, 

The world of beauty and life and love. 

The car wheels whisper, 

"Free, you're free ;" 
The old hills beckoning 

Call to me ; 

The old friends wait. 
The old loves smile, 
And the wheels whirr off 

Another mile. 




32 



The Land ivhere the 
(U)ivho)/ Groivs 



Loneliness 

The coppery sun, low hanging in the sky. 
Grows redder as it nears the place the eye 
Marks the horizon far ; and then, between, 
The early evening dust clouds intervene. 

The parched and burning sagebrush, whose dull gray 
Is stretching to the skyline, far away, 
Seems like the ocean, waiting for a storm, 
Except that here no sea breeze blows ; 'tis warm. 

A gray adobe hut sits on this waste, 
A darker gray, 'tis, on the sage gray placed ; 
Before the door, just one the cabin's boast. 
Is planted in the earth a snubbing post. 

A saddle, with a bridle lying by 

An irrigating ditch that's almost dry; 

And to the left, upon the desert's floor, 

A dying horse a sun-bronzed man bends o'er. 

A dying horse, no more, no less. 

Receives this strong man's tender, soft caress ; 

Is called by him a harsh but loving name — 

"Good-by, you damned old geezer, you've been game; 

"We've fought it out together, you and I 
Have lived this hell of dreariness — good-bye." 
The twitching muscle has at last grown still, 
And through the warmth there creeps a sudden chill ; 

The man, low bending, marks the glazing eye. 
That, gazing upward, apprehends no sky : 
The sun has fallen slowly out of sight, 
A coyote howls, then all is still — 'tis night. 




33 



The Land tvhere the 
Cowboy Groius 



The Price 

A sorrow in a dreamer's heart 

Bore fruitage in a song. 
And once again grief played a part — 

A picture came along. 
For birth of thought with things worth while 
Is pain and tears hid by a smile. 

We dream along through summer glow 

And drift from day to day ; 
The softest, gentlest things but grow 

When pleasure leads the way ; 
A life made bright by things desired 
Ne'er brings the flame that grief has fired. 

Who dares expect the golden crown 

And miss the hemlock cup? 
What issue great has ever grown 

Without the bitter sup ? 
And yet, we deem our hero blessed 
Because a tomb is statue dressed. 




34 



The Land ivhere the 
Cowboy Grotvs 



The Cypress Song 

A little while we stay upon this earth, 

A little while, and pass to death from birth; 

Oh, dare we then take all that Nature gives 
Nor leave a tribute that will show her worth"? 

'Tis hard a man-made technic to attain 

When simple bird-song sings so sweet a strain ; 

But should one garner always from this land 
Of plain and mountain and the call disdain 

That bids him to a brother pass the word 
And try to tell him of the things he's heard? 

Yet fears his stumbling speech can ne'er convey 
The wonder music that his own heart stirred. 

A strange insistence bids that I pass up 
To town-tired brother Nature's brimming cup 
That he may quaff the nectar of the hills 
Whose magic vintage should the weary sup. 

A golden goblet might hold such a drink, 
A gem-set chalice it should be, I think ; 

Oh, dare one offer in a broken vase 
The lethe'd nectar from the canon's brink? 

They told me in the city I could find 
The silver word that frees the tongue-tied mind. 
The phrase that rounds the sentence into Art 
And liberates the thought of all mankind. 

But I, so slow in speech, so poor in word, 
Just one small atom of the common herd. 

Who gathered slowly of the city's ways, 
Was segregated as a man absurd. 



35 



The Land ichere the 
Coiuboy Groivs 



On me they looked with pity and disdain 
While some the stinging jeer could scarce refrain 

As poor in pocket, poor in speech, I stood 
And watched the passing of the pageant train. 

Back to my dog and horse and hills I've come 
Still dreaming and still worshiping, still dumb ; 

But yet not able to abate the sting 
Of lack to sing my lands encomium. 

'Twere better to dwell here, where Nature flings 
In great abundance her sweet offerings, 

Displaying lavishly her beauteous store 
And giving me some gifts denied to kings. 

For he who knows the language of the hills. 
Who at the call of every wild thing thrills, 
Whose music is the bird and waterfall, 
Finds jarring discord in the noise of mills. 

And, lying on Earth's breast beneath the pine, 
I gaze across where valleys intertwine 

And narrow into canons, scarped, unsealed — 
The sculptured wonders of a hand Divine. 

Ask not a city with her hurrying feet 

Her towering buildings and her gleaming street. 

These all are wonderful, but I love best 
The land where hill and heaven seem to meet. 

Oh, why should I this duty undertake, 

Why strain against the thing I cannot break? 

For one will come to paint with living word 
And then, I know, man's heart will hear and wake. 



36 



So I, perhaps, would better pass along 
And selfishly enjoy the World's great song, 

Nor try in broken phrase to offer up 
This Wine of Wonder to a passing throng. 

But when the Mountains know that he has come — 
The one to praise them, who will not be dumb — 

Oh, may they keep some memory of me 
Who longed to sing, but who could only hum. 



The Land 'where the 
Co<whoy Groivs 




The Land where the 
Conohoy Groivs 



The Cash In 

Simple stories, simply told, 

Ripples that play on the sand, 

These are the things recorded 
In the "Circle A.H." brand. 




38 



